


In Which In Language Strange She Said—‘I love thee true’

by OlwenDylluan



Series: It Cannot Be Taken From You [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Other, Snakes, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, no beta we post like desperate men, snek!babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 20:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan
Summary: The terribly intelligent Rosa has a mind of her own and surprises Aziraphale.





	In Which In Language Strange She Said—‘I love thee true’

**Author's Note:**

> Hello AO3, I wrote you another snek!baby fic!
> 
> In the snek!baby timeline, this comes after Aziraphale reading Beatrix Potter to the snakelets. The snek!babies are at least six months old, possibly a bit more more.

The bookshop was quiet and warm. The autumnal rain kept potential customers away, as did the snakes Mr. Fell had taken to allowing free range of his shop. More than one person had paled after coming face to face with a coil of napping reptile on a shelf of philosophy, medieval French literature, or Gnostic criticisms.

Mr Fell felt this was a fortuitous consequence.

On this day he was seated at his desk reading a particularly rich edition of Keats. A cello sonata played softly in the other room. And on his desk, Rosa was curled up, her head lying on one of the other books scattered over the desktop.

The children had grown in the past six months, and now measured anywhere between two and three feet each. Gone were the days when they could hide in a pocket or teacup. The original habitat now only fit one or two at a time, and since they no longer needed to be enclosed for their own safety, rocks and branches had been placed throughout the shop for them instead. Each had their preferred places to rest--under the sofa, on top of a bookcase close to a light, and so on.

Rosa’s favourite place was on Aziraphale’s desk, either stretched out or drawn into a tidy pile, like today. When she felt like being alone, she flowed down into the drawer Aziraphale left slightly open for her, a dark hiding spot lined with blankets.

Today she lazed next to Aziraphale’s mug of cocoa, taking advantage of the heat it gave off as the angel absently warmed it before taking every sip. When he reached for it, he ran his fingers gently along her cool, silky scales before slipping those fingers around the handle to lift the mug to his lips, all without moving his eyes away from the page before him.

They had spent hours like this today, Rosa watching him read, Aziraphale resettling his spectacles now and then, lips moving occasionally as he read to himself.

Some time after half-past three, Rosa stirred slightly. She had been thinking seriously and deeply about something for a few weeks now, and the time had come to broach the subject.

_ Azirafather. _

“Mm? Yes, Rosa, my love,” he said, lifting his gaze from the book and blinking a few times. “What is it?”

_ I have been cogitating for some time on a certain subject, and I believe the time is appropriate to discuss it with you. _

“Ah? Oh, yes, of course, my dear--you can always talk to me, you know.” He closed the book and folded his hands on top of it, giving her his full attention. “What is bothering you?”

_ I am not bothered, Azirafather. Rather, I find myself desirous of acquiring a certain skill, and I require help. _

“Skill? My dear, I would help you in any way I can, but skills may be more along your father’s line than mine.”

_ No, Azirafather. This is a skill that you are more likely to succeed at fostering in me than Father would be. _

Aziraphale blinked some more.

“My dear girl, I am mystified. What could I possibly teach you better than your father might?”

_ I would like to learn to read. _

Aziraphale slowly sat back in his chair, pulling off his spectacles. He stared at Rosa.

“Well. Well, my goodness,” he said inanely. “My goodness indeed.”

Rosa lifted her head off the book and pulled herself closer to him.

_ You have always read to us, Azirafather, and I am deeply grateful. But I find myself yearning to experience words without an intermediary. _

“My dear girl.” Aziraphale blinked again. Then his face transformed, and he glowed. “My _ very _ dear girl. It would be my honour to teach you how to read.”

Rosa reached forward to push her head against his hand. He turned it over to caress her pearly scales.

“It may be a challenge,” he said. “Your vocabulary and ability to express yourself are quite erudite. But learning to read means the basics, my love. The material may be quite boring. Apple, bell, cat, and so on--”

_ No, _ Rosa said. She turned and nosed at the Keats, lifting the cover enough to slip her head under it. The cover fell open at the title page. _ This. _

“Keats?” he said blankly. “My dear--Rosa, I admire your optimism, but--”

_ Read, _ she said, turning to look him in the eye. _ Read and point out with your finger the words you are reading, so that I may see the letters that make the sounds you speak aloud. _

“You want to… read along,” Aziraphale said, catching on.

_ I do, Azirafather. _

Aziraphale tapped his spectacles against his lips.

“You know, language is a terribly slippery thing. The same letters may be pronounced a completely different way in another word.”

_ Then we will read many different words, that I may learn all the different ways. _

Aziraphale looked at the dainty, confident, white snake with azure eyes, and smiled. He placed his spectacles on his nose, pulled his chair closer to the desk, and flipped several of the pages until he found what he was looking for. He angled the book on the desk, and Rosa slithered closer to him, arranging herself in the curve of his arm, her head poised above the page.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and moved his other hand to run a fingertip under the lines as he read.

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…”

And that is how Crowley came home out of the rain to find his angel and his daughter reading,

_ To bend with apples the moss’d cottage trees… _

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Rosa. The most bookish of the snek!babies, and the true child of Aziraphale’s heart. He didn’t think it was possible to love her more until she asked this. They’re each other’s favourite. But ssh, don’t tell the other snakelets or Crowley.
> 
> Rosa and Aziraphale are, of course, reading To Autumn.
> 
> The title is taken from Keats' La Belle Dame sans Merci.
> 
> For those who like visual reference, [this is the set of Keats that Aziraphale owns](https://www.peterharrington.co.uk/the-poetical-works-and-other-writings-127029.html), only his doesn’t have a bookplate and has no foxing at all. (The horror.)


End file.
